


Iodestar

by Omeganixtra



Series: a map 'cross the stars [6]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Cayde doesn't like it when you hurt his hunters, Dark, F/M, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Protective Behavior, proof that I cannot for the life of me stay away from making every darn thing slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omeganixtra/pseuds/Omeganixtra
Summary: The small Ghost quivers as it floats mere centimeters above Ikora’s palm. “Save my Guardian! Save her!"When Cayde sent the Guardian towards Io he thought nothing of it, believing wholeheartedly that his little protégé could more than handle it. Taking out the Black Garden? Not a problem. Surviving Ghaul’s onslaught on the Last City? Pfft, as if that had gotten them down for long.He never thought that he would be proven wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I see canon has made choices.  
>  _I disgree_  
>  *cough* enjoy

Exos were never intended to be able to experience fear or dread, but Cayde feels at least something _similar_ to it run down his back when he sees Zavala and Hawthorne drag Ikora between them, the normally so pristine Warlock looking ruffled and bruised.

“Cayde, with me,” Zavala commandeers, his voice hard. “ _Now_.”

The expression on his face is severe enough for Cayde to drop any attempt at making the situation more lighthearted.

Without another word the Exo jumps down from the crate he has been sitting on, heading in front of the other Vanguards and Hawthorne to pave the way if the crowds gather too close.

“Where to? The barn?”

“The barn,” Zavala confirms tersely.

Ikora, as banged up and bruised as she is, still manages to keep a firm grasp on Hawthorne for the entire walk. She clings to the other woman momentarily for balance when needed, at least until she is seated on a chair, only then letting go. Her face as grim as Zavala’s, Hawthorne immediately digs around for a bottle of antiseptic in one of her pouches, and puts it down on the table already holding the maps.

So many are still without their Light, and while Guardians are leagues healthier than civilians, infected wounds can very easily claim their lives when current affairs are as they are.

“I’ll look for some bandages and rags to clean you up with,” she says before exiting the shack, leaving the three Vanguards behind to talk in private.

The silence feels thick, almost real enough to taste in the air, and for every moment that Ikora sways where she sits, Cayde feels that dread-like sensation run rampant throughout his systems. It’s like something is stuck in-between his joints and small internal cogs, something that refuses to leave and instead gnaws and gnaws _and gnaws_.

He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Zavala… Cayde…” Ikora breathes heavily, one hand curled protectively around something small, looking more relieved to see the two of them than Cayde has ever seen her before. It’s mildly concerning when he is much more used to see her looking austere and collected, not frayed and tattered.

“Ikora, what happened to you? Where’s the Guardian?”

Zavala’s query has Ikora look down at the muddied floor of the barn with a heavy look in her eyes, which only lets Cayde’s mind spin worse and worse conclusions to her unspoken answer. Without a word she holds out the hand she has been keeping close to herself, revealing a scratched-up Ghost.

“Hold on, that’s…”

_No_ …

Cayde falls silent as he stares down at the small machine lying in Ikora’s hand. He’d recognize that anywhere from the pale green lacquer that coats its frame and the just as green lens.

“The Guardian, she… she stayed behind on Io, allowing me to escape on her ship and getting here,” Ikora speaks quietly as she too stares down at the small machine being cradled in her hand. “If not for her, I would not be here right now.”

“Stayed behind?” Cayde echoes, faceplates meeting in a frown. “Explain.”

“Vex and Cabal were shooting at us from every direction, a simple reconnaissance had gone wrong. I was hit but she dragged me to her ship and had me thrown in along with her Ghost. She told me to find you.”

Ikora strokes the Ghost in her hands with a gentle touch and the small machine flickers online, whirring as the outer spikes rotates into place.

“Commander Zavala? Cayde?”

Its voice is… scarily quiet, almost hesitant as its lens focuses on the Titan and Hunter in front of it. Honestly, it reminds Cayde too much of those other scattered groups of guardians he has seen gather on the Farm, all cradling their dead Ghosts in their hands with blank expressions on their faces and a noticeable lack of Light around their personas.

“I am sorry for this, little one,” Ikora continues in that same quiet tone from before as she lifts the palm holding the Ghost, “but I need you to show your video logs of our departure from Io.”

“Of course, Master Ikora,” the Ghost rattles out, making Cayde almost wince from how detached and mechanical the voice suddenly sounds.

He has become used to the Ghost of his unofficial favorite—“Favorite? Naw, I have _no idea_ what you’re on ‘bout, Zavala!”—Guardian always sounding just a bit more… humane, much more lively than… _than_ _this_. Nonetheless, Cayde focuses on the little guy as its lens flickers between black, blue, red, green, and lights up the room with a shaky recording.

_The sound of gunshots is loud and echoes through the air. Two shapes, Ikora and the Guardian, are running in front of the camera, with the Guardian looking back every few seconds to reach behind with her gun and fire off shots of her own. Her helmet is gone and her cape is tattered with bullet-holes._

_Ikora is bleeding from a wound in her shoulder, but the camera focuses on a ship not far from where they are. The sound of Cabal legionnaires can be heard somewhere behind them._

_“There it is! Our ship!” the Ghost calls out and the camera shakes up and down before stabilizing once more. “Guardian, it’s not far now!”_

_“Ghost, get Master Ikora to the Farm!” the Guardian yells as she keeps a tight grip around Ikora, her face shown to wince when a shot from somewhere behind them chips the rock by her head._

_They all stop in front of the ship but the Guardian aims at something behind the Ghost’s field of view and fires off a series of shots with her hand cannon. Cries of Cabal dying somewhere behind the Ghost can be heard._

_“Guardian, you must be out of your mind!” Ikora’s voice cuts through, but it is laced with obvious pain despite her not being seen by the camera. “There are too many for you to take on alone!”_

_“That ship can’t hold more than a guardian and their Ghost, and right now you are the bigger priority. Get to the Farm and figure out a plan against the Cabal!”_

_The camera flies closer to the Guardian and she reaches out to rub a gloved hand against its side. A smile appears on her face before she nudges the Ghost towards Ikora with that same hand._

_“I’ll be fine. I’ll hunker down somewhere an—MOTHERFUCKER!” the Guardian is cut off when a shot from one of the Cabal hits her arm and she drops the hand cannon with a curse. “Go, Ikora._ NOW _!”_

_More shots are heard as the Ghost’s camera flies between Ikora and the Guardian before something grabs it out of the air and then the vision shows the inside of the ship instead before static interrupts the image and fades to black._

“The recording that you just saw is more than a week old,” Ikora sighs as she stares down at the Ghost and puts it down on the table in front of her.

“A _week_?!” Cayde snaps, inwardly reeling at how furious he suddenly feels. “How the Hell did it take you more than _a week_ to get from Io to Earth?! What, your warp drive malfunctioned?”

“The Cabal were on my trail from the moment I exited Io’s atmosphere, Cayde!” Ikora bites right back, defensive as all Hell, but rightly so when he’s acting like this. “I had no choice but to travel as covertly as possible if I did not wish for the Cabal to find or track me to here!”

The Exo bites back a curse as he turns on his heel and begins to pace from one end of the small barn to the other, wringing his hands as his processors starts to draw up one plan after the other, every new one just a tad more daring and downright _ridiculous_ in an attempt to find a solution to the situation.

It’s not really helping, but if he doesn’t do _something_ , if he can’t get something to do, then he’ll explode.

“Cayde, you must calm down! We cannot give room for anger and quick tempers if we are to find a solution to this!” Zavala says, his tone straight and to the point as always, but that… that doesn’t matter.

It’s not _Zavala’s_ protégé currently missing somewhere in the ass-end of nowhere on _fucking Io_. It’s not _Zavala_ who is just about ready to combust if he doesn’t find something _to do_.

The news of the Guardian, one of his own Hunters, has Cayde rattled in a way he has not experienced in a long, long time. The usual itchy feeling he usually gets whenever the Tower becomes almost _too_ claustrophobic is suddenly back, only ten—no a _hundred_ —times worse.

_He_ was the one to lead his hunter towards Io, fully believing them capable of handling whatever issues Fate decided to throw their way. _He_ was the one to pat them on the shoulder and give them a one-armed hug before waving them off towards the stars. _He_ was the one to… to…

He had been the one to send the naïve, little squire straight into the dragon’s lair, fully believing that they would slay the beast, and now he might never see them ever again.

A small noise interrupts the whirlwind that is steadily building inside his mind, making Cayde stop and look towards Ikora who was still holding the Ghost in her hands.

The small Ghost quivers as it floats mere centimeters above Ikora’s palm. It almost seems as if the small machine is trying to curl up around itself—looking at it is downright _painful_.

“Save my Guardian! _Please_ , save her!” it pleads, lens focusing on Cayde as it wobbles slightly before taking off from the table, slowly floating towards the Hunter Vanguard.

When Cayde sent the Guardian towards Io he didn’t really think much of it. After all, it was only a matter of getting Ikora here to Earth, to the Farm, so that the Vanguard is gathered once more and they’ll be able to kick Gha-whatshisname to kingdom come. He has never once doubted that his little protégé could handle it.

Taking out the Black Garden? Not a problem.

Surviving Ghaul’s onslaught on the Last City? Pfft, as if that had gotten them down for long.

He never thought that he could actually be proven wrong. It’s not a very nice feeling.

Cayde lets out a sigh, the noise rattling and eerily mechanical as his vocal units spark to life. There’s just no way that he is going to allow one of his own to be stranded somewhere without the backup that they so desperately needs; he has already lost so many good friends to the Cabal, the Vex—to so many of the Traveler’s enemies, and damned if he is about to lose his protégé as well.

“Zavala,” he states, squaring his shoulders. “I’m going to need a ship.”

* * *

Cayde-6, Vanguard of the Hunters of the Last City.

Too whimsical, a Hunter stuck with ideas of glory and battle in his silly, horned metal head.

He knows what the Warlocks and the Titans whisper behind his back when he isn’t paying attention, knows that the whispers more often than not result in brawls at the local bars when his Hunters learn of their backtalk. He just smiles through the never-far-behind lecture that Zavala stands ready with as soon as he hears about it too.

Of course, Cayde is down at the orderlies the very moment he gets out, just to pay the bail for his Hunters and make sure that they promise to have new, interesting stories when they come home again. As repayment for him bailing them out, naturally.

It’s not as if the other Vanguards can stop him from looking out for his own, ‘cause he sure as Hell has enough blackmail on both of them—of course he won’t ever really _use_ it, but the threat of it is always nice to have.

He knows about Ikora sneaking sweets to the Warlocks who often hunkers down in the Archives to research and study, despite her vehemently protesting that they were something she has confiscated and is about to dispose of. He knows about Zavala quietly taking some of the best raids and strikes off the official rosters and handing them to some of the best among the Titans, convincingly surprised whenever someone points it out how odd it is that the Titans more often than not seems to have such daring, thrilling missions to complete.

They all have their favorites, the ones among their respective classes that they try to wrap in grandeur, glory and who knows what else that sounds spiffy and fancy and all kinds of weird, even if the others always turns their noses up at such preposterous behavior.

Cayde was a Hunter, and a damn good one at that if he might say so himself, before he was a Vanguard, and Hunters, they always look out for their own.

They look out for those who are lagging just a bit behind, and have the backs of those who are in the front, scouting ahead.

Hunters have each other’s back, no matter what happens, and this is certainly not going to be any different. One of his own is out where they’re not able to reach the safe shores, so he’s going to be there for them.

End of story. _Capishe_ , Zavala?

“Zavala,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m going to need a ship.”

Silence fills the barn at the Exo’s bold statement—no, _demand_.

“Absolutely not!” Zavala thunders a few moments later, an almost identical expression on his face, but Cayde is having none of it.

This time he is not going to just back off and go grumble in a corner like a petulant child who has been put in the timeout corner. This time he is going to do what is right and not what his associates demand of him.

_He ain’t having it, cowboy. No siree!_

“You are needed here, Cayde, with the rest of the Vanguard to plan an attack to take back the Last City from the Cabal! If you are off gallivanting across the system, then what are we supposed to do?”

 “We can’t afford to lose the Guardian!” Cayde argues right back at him. “So far, they are the only one who somehow regained their Light, and you’d what? Rather send out some random, ragtag fireteam to get her back here? They’re _Lightless_ , Zavala!”

“Your point being?”

“My point _being_ that if you send out some barely-wet-behind-the-ears fireteam this’ll only end in tragedy! At least with an experienced soldier you’d be able to guarantee at least a chance of success!”

Ikora keeps silent as she watches the two of them bite and snarl at each other. Quite frankly, Cayde is _beyond_ caring at this point. He knows that both of them just as headstrong as the other, but neither of them will back down from this.

They’re probably going to give her a mighty fine migraine at the end of this, if they don’t end up eating each other alive, that is.

“Both of you, _enough_!”

Both Cayde and Zavala stops snapping at each other, each of them looking to Ikora instead. She’s standing on shaky legs, even Cayde can see that, but she brushes off his attempt to help her sit down again with an irritated huff and swats his hand away. Definitely not in the mood for a helping hand right now.

“Fighting amongst ourselves will not help us here. We need to figure out a plan in any case, because like it or not, Cayde is right, Zavala!” Ikora’s voice is sharp and stern, like a teacher scolding two of her students, and right now Cayde would be feeling damn close to one if it wasn’t because of the Hunter he’s currently missing. Ikora looks at the both of them with which can only be described as disappointment. “The Guardian is the only one so far who has managed to regain their Light, and therefore we _need_ them. None of the other Guardians, ourselves included, have managed to even regain a semblance of the powers we used to command.”

“Letting Cayde go gallivanting off on a hero’s journey is _nothing but a_ _risk_!” Zavala starts, but quiets down when Ikora holds up but a single finger.

“It’s the lesser of two evils, Zavala!” Ikora finally snapped at him, causing Zavala to jerk back in surprise. “Send out a fireteam of tired, _mourning_ Guardians and we lose both them and her. Send out Cayde and at the very least there is a chance that it might succeed!”

Cayde stares at Ikora in something akin to wonder as he hears her defend him and his actions—his demand. Silence echoes in the barn as the yelling finally ceases, stops all together, but the thick sensation from before is right behind it. She needs to teach him how to do that finger-thing. It’d be damn useful out in the field or when his duckling Hunters needs some breaking in.

“And you!” Ikora snaps, twisting like a whirlwind and suddenly Cayde is finding himself on the end of her hawk-like gaze and outstretched, reprimanding finger. “You should know better than to act with your typical bravado, Cayde! We _know_ that this is a stressful situation, especially for you, but I was there! I could only look on while she fought off who knows how many Vex and Cabal, so how do you think I feel about letting her stay there?

“If I could then I would have switched places with her, that is what I _want_ to do, but my head tells me no, that it would only have ended in tragedy if I were to fall and she would have left Io with only disappointment and blood on her hands and her soul!”

She’s barely keeping it together, he realizes while staring at Ikora. Her eyes are bright and glistening, and he realizes that…

_Ikora is holding back tears_. _She’s sad that this happened in the first place._

“We cannot truly stop you, can we?” Zavala finally sighs, suddenly sounding a lot more tired than he appears, and sits down on a rickety folding chair. “You are going to scurry off, one way or another.”

“Damn straight I am,” Cayde snorts, keeping his air of bravado close around himself like armor, before his faceplates shifted to form a serious expression. “I told the kid about Io. ’S my fault that this happened in the first place.”

“You were the reason she found me?” Ikora frowns as she discreetly wipes at the corners of her eyes and Cayde pretends not to see how the fabric of her gloves come away moistened, it’s the least he can do when she practically upended her heart about the situation just before.

“Yeah, but now the only real Guardian we had is _gone_ , Ikora!” Cayde snapped, wincing when the Ghost on the table made a despairing, mechanical noise. He turned from the two of them and crossed his arms. “I have to make this right somehow, and I’ll start with getting our Guardian back here.”

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder-plate, Zavala’s, no doubt.

“You do realize that there is no room for mistakes in this, Cayde? If you screw this up, then that’s it. There won’t be a second or third chance for you this time. No amount of jokes will bring any of you back.”

“Just who do you think I am, Zavala?” he smirks, faceplates twisting to display a savage grin, all mechanical teeth and rage and for a moment Cayde truly feels more like a machine than he feels human. It’s something he revels in while it lasts, because he knows that there will be no room for regrets here.

“Very well then. Go to Io, get the Guardian out of there. But promise that both of you will come back.”

Cayde turned to look the Awoken Titan in the eyes, “Damn straight we will.”

* * *

Hawthorne points him to a ship, Ikora throws a tightly packed duffle bag at him and he’s off. Heading for the stars in what seems like forever, even though he took a ship off Earth before to Nessus and then from Nessus back to Earth only days ago.

But he’s free.

For the first time in freaking _forever_ he’s free and he’s himself and he’s feeling _fucking wonderful_!

His Sundance collides with his horn and lets out a whirring, chiding sound that makes him look at her immediately.

“Focus, Cayde,” she chides and bobs up and down in the nonexistent gravity of the cabin. “The mission, right?”

She centers him, always has like the little bobbing ball of light and hopes and dreams and purpose that she is. Cayde loves her with every bit of his soul and being. She’s amazing, is what she damn well is.

He can’t resist making his ship do just one more whirl before he stabilizes in empty space, hovers far enough above Earth that he can see both the planet and the Moon not too far away. With the stars of distant systems covering the background, it sure is a pretty picture being painted before him here.

“Set coordinates for Io, would ya?” he mutters and taps his Ghost on the side of its frame. “We’ve got a Guardian to save.”

Around him stars become stripes and Earth becomes nothing but a blue and green little blur for a few precious moments before it fades from view. He’s off again, flying through the stars.

Traveler, how he missed this!

With a warp drive at hand the trip won’t take more than maybe thirty minutes, forty if he’s unlucky and the drive can’t handle too much strain, but he doubts it.

The time is passed with cleaning his Ace of Spades thoroughly, checking his ammunition, poking at his little Sundance until she stings his fingers in annoyance. Space is flying by outside, stars still stripes and the planets nothing but momentary smudges of color.

Was this what she saw as well before she landed?

Did she see the stars zoom by before she tumbled to Io’s surface, high on the adrenaline and the sensation than nothing can stand in her way?

Maybe she-!

“Cayde.”

His Ghost brings him out of his musings, and when Cayde looks up he sees Jupiter looming in front of him, the enormous gas giant lazily twisted by the ever-raging storms that dots its dazzling surface.

Not far from where they hang in the emptiness of space is Io, a ball of yellow and orange and brownish red.

“Let’s go,” he says tersely, assuming manual control and steers towards the surface.

A hand reaches down to grab his gun, holds its handle tight in a vicegrip and continues on.

The Vanguard gets left behind among the stars, staring down at Io, and in its place, the Hunter assumes its spot.

Io’s surface is dust and blood and mechanical parts.

The coordinates that Ikora jotted down for him are an absolute mess. The natural rock formations are twisted to Hell and beyond by shots from both his wayward Hunter and her pursuers, no doubt.

“This… this is gonna be a lot tougher than I thought it would.”

Remains of Vex litter the ground, rotting corpses of the Cabal are scattered liberally around as well, but what makes him go a little weak in his knees are the tracks of blood—“Human,” his Ghost speaks softly, as if she’s afraid of his reaction—that zigzag in the yellow sand.

Io has had little atmosphere left ever since the Traveler left it behind, so practically everything that is stepped on is preserved almost exactly as it is, or at least degrading slow enough for anyone to not notice right away, and the tracks that zigzag across the sand, splattered with blood, indicating a struggle.

She struggled as she was taken, he knows that now.

_She might not be alive any more, no Ghost nearby to resurrect her or anything else to save her_ , a treacherous little voice whispers in his mind and Cayde slams a hand into the sand as he kneels down.

“Shut the Hell up!” he hisses and clenches the hand buried in the sand. He digs his fingers down, down, down—as far down as his fingers can go—and obscures the tracks before him, only stopping when the sound of metal groaning against the force being put on it reaches his audio units.

“She’s alive.”

He says it like a mantra and begins to follow the tracks, continues on when traces of struggling legs are replaced by wide marks, marks of Cabal tanks.

_Goliath-class_ , the same little treacherous voice from before whispers again, but this time its helpful and not obnoxious.

He can work with that.

Cayde continues down the hovercraft’s tracks and uncocks the safety from his gun. His Ghost hovers close by. Together they begin their search.

* * *

 

Once upon a time Cayde was young and idealistic and thought that he would always just roam around, never settling down— _ever_.

That was before Andal and the Vanguard Bet—back when his human life still was nothing but a hazy blur and the name ‘Ace’ still rang clear as day despite everything.

Before he had to write everything down, before he—!

The Cabal’s terrified noises drags him out of his melancholic thoughts, drags him back to the present.

_Bang_

Cayde pulls the trigger and watches coldly as the Cabal in front of him jerks when his bullet collides with the floor mere centimeters from the Cabal’s feet. He lets out a sigh as he raises the hand cannon to point at the Cabal’s face.

“I guess we’ll try this one more time, big fella… Where is she?”

“You will get _nothing_ from me, cur!” the Cabal splutters and tries to scurry back against the wall.

It is almost pathetic how desperate the alien acts now when death is staring it right in the face, but Cayde’s not about to take pity on the damn thing all of a sudden.

Looking back, it had been almost too easy for Cayde to get his mechanical ass into the Cabal encampment and get to this idiot.

“That’s the wrong answer, pal,” Cayde snarls as his grip tightens around the handle of his Ace of Spades, curls around the trigger. “Now, I suggest you think _reeeal_ carefully just one more time before these walls are gonna get decorated real fancy with your innards.”

The Cabal howls one insult after the other at him, curses him up, down and to the Moon and back, but at this point Cayde is beyond caring. He raises a foot and slams it down on the alien’s leg, hearing the crunch of broken armor and the scream of the now-injured Cabal.

He’s not proud of it, but if this is what it will take for the asshole to talk, then this is what it will take.

“Holler all you like, there aren’t anyone around to hear ya. I made damn sure of that.”

The two continue for quite a while like that.

It takes a while. It takes a very long while before his unwilling idiot talks, but talk he does, and oh, there are so many things to talk about!

A gathering of gibberish and just a bit of bloodied spittle later, Cayde is strolling down the hallways with his gun in one hand, a map of the premises in the other, and Sundance is busy lighting the way for him like the darling little thing she is.

The holding cells are not far from where he ambushed the Cabal from before, and the only resistance he meets is a pair of overworked guards just sitting outside a single cell.

Really, he’s doing them a favor with two well-placed stun-grenades and a firm pistol-whipping to the face.

Whistling a catchy little tune he discovered not long ago, the tone sounding more mechanical than he’d like, he snatches the keycards to the cells off one of the guards and shuffles through them as the tune reaches its crescendo.

It takes a few tries before he finds the correct one for the cell, and the rest are thrown haphazardly behind his back as the cell-door opens and he struts inside.

The sight that meets him has Cayde feel as if he has short-circuited.

The Guardian lives, although it looks like that might soon be rectified if the Cabal have any say in it.

Her face is bared to the world but covered in purple and black bruises on almost every inch. The only places where the bruising is gone is instead covered in cuts or caked, flaky spots of dry blood.

If he had been human Cayde would have been hard pressed to keep from retching.

She stirs when the door opens and lets in the dull orange light that illuminates the corridor outside, but then turns away and has her body curl up as if to protect her vital parts from incoming danger.

No doubt that is what she has been subjected to before he got here.

Cayde only breathes her name before he kneels down before her, hands stretched out carefully towards her as if she is a spooked animal and not a fierce warrior.

“C-Cayde?” she rasps and her eyes crack open to look at him. Slowly disbelief begins to set in as she blinks to clear her vision. “Is this real… or is it just another nightmare?”

“Nightmare?” Cayde laughs, although the sound is strained as he slowly reaches out a hand and barely holds back a curse when she flinches away the moment that their fingers come into contact with each other. “Sweetheart, I better be the products of your wildest dreams or not at all. Come on, we’re gettin’ you outta here!”

One moment’s hesitation turns into sheer desperation for friendly contact as she suddenly clutches his hand tightly and doesn’t let go when Cayde shuffles closer to try and pick her up.

Her pained whine stops him immediately.

“Fuck, should’ve brought your Ghost along!” he hisses and begins to retract his hand but another whine from her has him hesitate long enough for her to yank him back towards her.

He barely catches himself before he is about to slam into her and leans away just enough for him not to be crowding her, gives her space to _breathe_.

She only curls around him, one shaky hand snaking itself around the back of his neck and pressing her almost completely flush against his body.

_Good girl_ , his mind coos. Cayde only tightens the grip he has on her.

“My Ghost?” she rasps and he shifts a little awkwardly when he sees the tear-tracks now running down her cheeks.

“Arrived safely with Ikora. Little guy’s been worried sick ‘bout you, actually. It isn’t good for them to be so far away from their guardians, y’know.”

“Cayde… I want… I want to go _home_ ,” she cries and Cayde feels as if his heart is breaking, just a little bit inside.

“We’re going home now, cross my heart,” he croons at her and once more tries to move around so he can lift her off the ground. This time she allows it, although from the way her face twists up in a grimace, it is no doubt a pain-filled endeavor.

Cayde straightens up with his arms full of injured Guardian and walks out of the cell in silence but breaks it every few moments to talk quietly to his Guardian.

He’s found her and he’s bringing her home.

The Cabal can just try to come and take her.

_Let them fucking come_.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a lot longer to get out than to get in.

He can’t move too fast or she’s in pain. Sundance makes a quick survey of the human woman in his arms and quietly reports her findings to Cayde through their private connection.

Two ribs broken. A bruised collarbone and so many cuts and superficial bruises that it wouldn’t surprise him if she had fallen down a cliff or two before getting caught for real by the Cabal. A badly healing cut at her hip, probably from one of the Cabal’s mongrel war beasts.

He gets her on-board and has to set the destination for Earth but Cayde quickly finds that it pains him to leave her side. Weird. So weird. He’s felt low-key anxiety when sending rookies out over the years as the Hunter Vanguard, but this? This feels like a Titan just took their hammer and slashed his chest in.

So, the simple solution to the problem is to just stay with her—at least for now.

He sits on the entry ramp with her still clutched in his arms, looking over Io as the many shadows begin to grow and creep along the ground.

She makes no sound as he sits down, only curls up when he finally sits still. A shaking hand reaches up to clutch at a fraying handful of his cloak. Cayde says nothing but looks at her and blinks. His hands tighten briefly around her frame, reassures him that she is actually here and this is not some weird hallucination that the Vex or Cabal are inflicting on his poor, mechanical, Exo-body.

Her hands tighten in response to his and she looks up at him briefly.

Cayde wants to kill something.

 _Desperately_.

Empty and afraid and teary. Those words are all he can think when he looks at her, at his favorite little Hunter and sees a woman who is scared of speaking even now, even when she is out of harm’s way [at least for now] and should instead be focusing on recovering her strength.

They break eye contact after a few moments but the damage is already done.

He’s going back to Io after this. Fuck whatever spiel about responsibility that Zavala probably is memorizing at this very moment, fuck the lack of approval from Ikora, Hell, _fuck the Traveler and the proverbial celestial horse it rode in on_!

The Cabal are going to curse the day that they ever got the idea to try and take one of his.

Neither Guardian says a word, both of them content to simply enjoy the peace and quiet of a successful mission. In the silence of Io it is not hard for Cayde to just will away the truth behind his being here, or why the Guardian in his lap keeps shivering. It is easier to just ignore what has happened, at least for now.

He knows better than anyone how it feels to have everything ripped away from beneath—knows how it _hurts_ to lose the little bit of control over life that the Guardians have.

His vocal units activate, orange light glowing softly as he hums out the same tune he whistles earlier whilst trying to locate his favorite little Hunter here.

“Cayde, we need to get moving.”

Sundance breaks the atmosphere, brings both of them back to reality, and Cayde’s little hum disappears.

“Just a moment, Sun,” he grumbles and looks up at his Ghost from below the hood that movers most of his face. “ _Jeez_ , let a guy get some rest for once.”

“No, _now_ , Cayde! My sensors are going off the rails, the Cabal are sending off signals like crazy right now! If we don’t move soon, you’ll have one heck of a fight on your hands!”

He feels the Guardian tense at the word ‘Cabal’ and wants to scream. But Sundance is only doing her job, is just trying to keep both of them alive, and he can’t really fault her for that.

“I’ll get the ship going. As soon as we enter open space, I can take over the controls, but until then I need you at the rudder, Cayde.”

Cayde flips a rude gesture at Sundance.

“ _Vanguard_!” is the sharp reply he receives along with a sharp bolt of electricity.

He lets out a curse but nonetheless gets up after that, taking the Guardian inside the ship proper and setting her down before piling every blanket and soft piece of clothing around her that he can find.

* * *

The Hunter Vanguard steps forward as Cayde-6 the rapscallion steps back, allows professionalism to take the place of wants and desires of freedom.

Io’s orange canyons are replaced by the blackness of space and it does not take long for Jupiter to spin lazily behind them as the course is set for Earth and home and _safety_.

Cayde nearly trips over his own legs the moment that Sundance takes over in his eagerness to come back to his little Hunter. He ignores the suspiciously mirthful chuckle he thinks originates from Sundance as soon as he has finished handing over the controls to his partner.

He has a job to do.

* * *

“You came for me,” she rasps when he is finished bandaging her hands to the best of his own[shitty] abilities. “Why?”

For a long while Cayde simply looks at her, just looks at her and the tousled and sweat-matted hair and the dark bruises and the angry cuts that litter her skin.

“Well,” he says, both his devil-may-care attitude and cheeky tone put on _thick_ , and leans back, “Officially it is all in the name of the Traveler that we mounted a rescue mission, since you’re the only current Guardian whose Light has returned. Unofficially…”

“Unofficially…?”

“Unofficially…” Cayde has to pause there for a moment. He doesn’t know why he is stalling the conversation. Unofficially he wants to be able to take her place, to go back and hurt those fucking Cabal even more, to destroy—!

“The reason this happened is because of me,” he finally says, quiet like the whisper on the wind, and grasps at her bandaged hands, absentmindedly noting that one of the ends is already fraying. When she moves to object, Cayde simply raises a hand and places a finger against her lips, halting her. “I was the one who told you to go to Io, I was the one who didn’t even check with you if you were alright, if you needed rest after all the shit you’ve been through, and you ended up gettin’ caught because of that.”

She pulls back ever so slightly, and when Cayde looks up from where his hand still holds onto hers, he is shocked to see tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m… as your Vanguard it is my responsibility to take care of you. I failed and you had to take the consequences of my lack of action. Guardian, this will never happen again, for as long as I draw breath, do you understand?”

He barely waits for her to nod before he stalks back to the cockpit. Right now it _hurts_ to look at her.

* * *

The ride back home to Earth, to the Farm and the Vanguard, feels longer than it probably is.

Without her Ghost his Hunter is all shivers and flinches and it feels like something is twisting inside his chest every time that he looks over his shoulder to check on her.

A gentle light surrounds the area around her, originating from somewhere inside Sundance, but it seems to bring his charge at least _some_ form of comfort.

At least until she falls asleep and the humming of the engine is joined by screeches and howls as nightmares hounds her mind.

He makes sure that Sundance lights her surrounds constantly for the rest of the trip.

* * *

The Farm lies completely quiet when they return.

Far above them the shattered visage of the Moon casts an eerie glow over the entire complex. Lookouts dot the landscape with small orange lights flickering every now and then.

It’s all surreally idyllic.

Cayde guides his Guardian down to the room that he was assigned when he arrived alone from Nessus. There is no way that he is going to just hand her straight over to Zavala and Co. All they’ll do is demand answers and reports and like Hell she’s ready for that.

 _Fuck no_.

“Cayde?”

Her voice draws him from his thoughts and Cayde shifts to look down at his Guardian.

He’s clutching her hand in his, holds it against his chest and has done so since they got inside and locked the door.

“Lemme see if we can’t stay like this without alertin’ the whole anthill until tomorrow, yeah?” he quips, one face-plate raised to imitate raised eyebrows, suddenly all humor and laid-back.

She doesn’t say anything, only nods, and follows when he tugs her to the bed.

“Here, sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

She hesitates. Looks at the covers like she’s afraid that they’ll disappear if she accepts. “But what if—?”

"‘ey! I said, _sleep_. You need it, that li’l nap on the ship don’t count,” the words are out before he can stop them and Cayde presses the heel of his hand against his horn. “No, no, no, sorry, that was—that wasn’t very good. What I _meant_ to say was, you can sleep here. There won’t be anyone to get you as long as I have a say in it.”

He wants her to believe him, to truly _believe_ that no one—and Cayde really does mean fucking _no one_ will enter that door without his permission, or so help him Traveler, he’ll—will get her here.

The Cabal would be nothing but a bad memory for her if he could take away the experience, but she is so human and so soft. She’s flesh and blood and life while he’s metal and oil and machinery.

Unattainable, it’d be frowned upon like no tomorrow, most likely.

Zavala would probably do that thing with his eyebrows and scowl like Cayde’d insulted his mother, or something. Oh, and Ikora? Ikora would just roll her eyes and go with it, thinking it nothing more than one of his passing fancies.

He’s had a lot of those.

It would all be easier to hack away the memories, to just make her forget what happened, but the world doesn’t work that way.

But she’s human. His little Guardian is human and humans get hurt so easily. It’s easy to forget how it takes next to nothing to hurt them.

Cayde moves away from her, releases her hand. Ace of Spades in hand, he makes a point of sitting down by the end of the bed and look straight at the door, like a guard dog.

No one is getting in without his permission.

A few moments pass before he hears the telltale sound of buckles being loosened and cloth being dragged over skin. The telltale _clink_ that hits the small bedside table is probably her belt, boots are easily identified when they hit the floorboards.

Only when the sound of the covers shuffling around reaches his audio units, Cayde allows himself to briefly look over his shoulder to check on his charge.

She’s sitting in the bed, a pile of clothing messily thrown beside it on the ground, but she’s staring straight at him.

“You promise?” she asks, voice cracking and quivering [is it really quivering or is it me? Nah, it’s quiveri—oh _shit_ , no, no, don’t start crying on me now!]. “You promise that they won’t come in without…”

She apparently can’t finish her sentence. He doesn’t mind— _he gets her anyway_.

“Promise, cross my heart and hope to die, sweetheart,” is all he says before he winks and looks straight at the door once more.

No one is getting in without his outright permission.

* * *

All Hell breaks loose in the morning.

Even though he really hadn’t meant to, Cayde has dozed off at some point during the night. However, the tenseness that has kept him going since he set off to find his Guardian still remains in his body.

This means that when Zavala comes a’knockin’ at the crack of dawn with all the subtlety of a Cabal in a ballet-studio, the first thing Cayde does is jump awake with a yelp and put a bullet through the thin wall right beside the door.

The splinter of wood and Zavala’s yell of surprise has his Guardian up and awake with a scream and she’s off the bed and hidden in the corner before even five seconds have passed.

A lot can happen in five seconds.

Zavala gapes like a fish at the scene before him—Cayde fully armed and pointing his still-smoking hand cannon straight at his face, the Guardian huddling in a corner with rattling breath.

“Hey,” Cayde is in front of her in a flash, both palms up in front of him and a soft—[hey, he can too look soft, Ikora, shut up!]—expression on his face. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s a’right. ‘S just Zavala, not those fuckers we got you away from, okay?”

She’s shivering like a leaf, face abnormally pale, and Cayde turns around to glare at the intruder in his room.

 _Shoot the fucker dead_.

Great. Murder-voice from Io is back, it seems. Just what he needs.

 _He’s trespassing—we_ promised _her, remember?—shoot him, shoot him, shoot him shoOTHIMSHOOTHIMSHOOTHIMSHOOT_ —!

“Get out.”

“Cayde, we need to—”

“ _I said, OUT_!”

Zavala leaves without another word, closes the door behind him and everything, like Cayde hasn’t just looked more than ready to start blowing out his colleague’s brains.

Gotta work on that, ain’t gonna be good for morale if the Vanguard starts blowing each other to pieces.

He still cackles inside his head at the innuendo, though.

A downright pitiful noise reaches him and his attention is back on his little Guardian in an instant.

Sitting there in nothing but her soft under-armor she’s a right mess with tears welling in her eyes, lips opening and closing as she tries to get her breathing under control.

Internally he’s panicking, because Cayde is not used to this, not used to this at all, and so, he does the only thing he can think off and reaches out to hug her.

“Shhhhh,” he murmurs and slowly begins to rock back and forth [Once he read somewhere that gentle motions helped with panic-attacks, so why not, eh? Might as well just give it a try, since he’s up and can’t sleep anyway.]. “Easy does it, girl. Just breathe for me now. _Breathe_.”

He thinks it helps, at least it _sounds_ like it’s helping, but he’s never been that great with women if he’s being totally honest—ANYWAY!

“I—I’m sorry, I—” she gasps between quivering breaths and Cayde only tightens his embrace around her, feels her bare hands grip at his back and bunch up the fabric of his cape and the armor underneath it.

Outside he hears raised voices and the Guardian tenses even further in his arms. With a sigh he slowly eases back, even if it feels _wrong_ and _not right at all_ and _he should stay here and hold her until she’s well again and_ —no. This isn’t helping her, it’s only going to keep stressing her if he doesn’t do something ‘bout this, and _soon_.

“You gotta let go of me,” he murmurs and lightly tugs to try and free his hands but all _that_ ends up accomplishing is her grip tightening to an almost _painful_ hold. “Hey, it’s not for long, I just gotta go talk to the people outside, and then I’ll be right back, a’right?”

“ _No_!”

Traveler help him.

“If I don’t go out there and tell them to scram, they’ll beat down the door at some point and then we’ll both be very unhappy—I mean, I don’t know about you, but _I_ , personally, _do_ _not_ like it when people start beating down my doors. And imagine all the cleanup afterwards, and—”

He stops rambling when she hesitantly let go of his back and cloak, and instead leans away, just like he does, looking up at him with frightened eyes—damn if she’s not looking just like a frightened animal right now, this is just downright _cruel_ , and at this hour, too?

Yeah, Traveler fucking help him.

“I… I don’t want to be alone…” she whispers. “ _Please_ , Cayde…”

“Trust me,” he answers and presses his mouth-plates to her clammy forehead, a mock of intimacy if there ever was one, but he is so beyond caring at this point. “I’ll be back before you know it, sweetheart.”

He’s up and out through the door before she can make a protest, spinning his Ace of Spades and whistling the tune from Io.

Idiots won’t know what hit them.

* * *

They’re _furious_ with him.

Big surprise there.

“What in the Traveler’s name possessed you to hide away in the dead of night instead of alerting us that everything had gone according to plan?!”

“I did what I thought was best. I just got the kid out of a fucking _warzone_ , Zavala, what did you think was going to happen if I just paraded her straight to you first thing after landing?”

If his scathing tone of voice surprises either of them, both Vanguard leaders are surprisingly good at hiding it.

“Cayde, you had a mission and you succeeded in it, I am not undermining that,” Zavala begins, a single finger raised in admonition, “But when you return with news, be they good or bad, I expect you to report in. We took a risk when we sent you out, and at the very least you ought to have the decency to not act so carelessly when we put our trust in you.”

“I did what I thought was best. You don’t like that, fine, but I ain’t gonna change how I act, Zavala,” Cayde replies, body tense and voice as cold as ice. “We’re a fireteam, even if we don’t always see eye to eye, and fireteams are supposed to trust each other completely. You oughta know that I wasn’t gonna let _anythin’_ happen to her, Traveler’s sake, Zavala, she’s one of _mine_!”

“Enough!” Ikora cuts in, rubbing her temples almost exactly like she did a few days ago before Cayde had been let out to play hero. “Cayde completed the task, we have the Guardian once more in safe hands, but we still need to figure out a way to combat the Cabal. I suggest that we send her out as soo—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Cayde cuts in and continues on without remorse while Ikora still glares at him in annoyed surprise. “She’s here alright, but like Hell she’s gonna leave my sight for the foreseeable future. What she needs right now is rest, and plenty.”

“Cayde, the Guardian is needed to—”

“As her personal Vanguard and Mentor, I hold direct jurisdiction over what happens with her. Just because I don’t love my job to bits don’t mean that I ain’t aware of what it entails.”

Zavala ain’t happy, that’s clear as day, while Ikora looks as if she’s eaten something sour and is just about ready to spit it out again if it weren’t because she has an audience at the moment.

“If we’re done here, I’ve got a Guardian to take care of,” Cayde spits and leaves without another word, his cape billowing behind him like an angry cloud.

* * *

The reunion between Ghost and Guardian is tender enough to almost bring a tear to his eyes. Well, if Exo were capable of crying, of course.

She lets out a broken sound when she sees him and practically runs from Cayde’s side, letting him experience something that feels suspiciously like panic [Panic, really Cayde? Just how pathetic have you become?] but it’s thrown into the dark depths of his mind just as quickly as it’s rearing its ugly head.

“You’re _safe_!” the Ghost croons as he nuzzles against his Guardian’s cheek.

She barely looks as if she can string together a cohesive sentence with all the crying and sniffling that she’s doing but for the first time since he found her in that dark cell on Io, Cayde sees genuine happiness flutter across her face.

The Ghost floats over to Cayde, his Guardian right behind him, and gently bumps against his horn, just like Sundance does whenever he does something funny.

“Thank you, Cayde…”

Cayde simply smiles.

“Always happy to help out, Ghost.”

* * *

Cayde watches from afar as Hawthorne’s medic meticulously looks his— _ahem_ , the Guardian over, a constant glowering presence in the back of the med bay keeping a close on _everything_ that the human is doing to his charge.

If the medic feels pressured, he sure holds up well as he pokes and prods away at the quiet woman sitting on the examination couch.

It took some coaxing and plenty of sweettalking, but he got her to go with him to the medical station and have a professional look over her injuries.

Cayde might have lived for quite a number of years and patched many a wound, but he ain’t no medic.

She was no big fan of small, sterilized rooms before. The capture by the Cabal has only made that feeling intensify, but while her Ghost might have healed any serious injuries that she has sustained during her brief capture, Cayde would rather be safe than sorry.

Hence the visit.

“You’re scaring them, Cayde,” Sundance tuts as she swirls around his head, gently bumping against his horn.

“Bullshit,” he snorts back, glares up at his little ball of Light. “If he can’t take this shit, how’s he gonna take care of anyone later on, huh?”

His attention is drawn back to his Guardian, sitting helm-less and wrapped in some spare clothes that Hawthorne had dug up from somewhere.

“The Cabal sure did a number on her,” Sundance whispers, it’s low enough that only Cayde hears it but he still tenses and glances around to make sure that no one else has heard what his Ghost said. “How did she even stay alive?”

“She’s a tenacious one, that’s for sure.

He can almost imagine that she’s just off to see a doctor in her off-duty time, and not stuck in the middle of fucking _no-where_ , if he concentrates _real hard_. The illusion is somewhat broken by the fact that his Guardian currently looks sick to her stomach as her eyes dart around to take in the different instruments and equipment that litter most of the medic area.

He pushes off against the crate he’s been leaning on and jumps up on the examination couch while the medic is looking through a cupboard. The man is dismissed with a stern look when he turns around and sees the Exo sitting beside his patient, and leaves without a word.

Hmm, looks like he’s getting a no-nonsense reputation.

He… kinda likes it. Makes him feel all swashbuckler-ish and _mysterious_ —ooooh, the ladies _love_ that shit! No wait, back on track—!

“Hey there, you okay?”

She looks at him with a pained expression in her eyes, utterly oblivious of the chaos that reigns inside his head, before she lifts her hand as if to summon her Ghost. She doesn’t, though. The hand falls down into her lap instead. Cayde covers it with his own without hesitation.

“I don’t… I don’t feel safe here. It… it reminds me o-of _them_ ,” she whispers and he feels as if she’s reached inside his chest and started squeezing his equivalent of a heart.

“Cayde…” she continues on and looks into the bandaged hands that lie in her lap. “Is there… is there something… _wrong_ with me?”

He freezes.

“ _No_ ,” he barks out and turns to look at her form. He sinks down onto his knees in front of her and wraps metal-fingers around her upper arms. “Look at— _hey_! Look at me, kid!”

Her eyes lift to look at him, but it is almost as if it pains her to do so.

“There is _nothing_ wrong with you, d’you hear me? _Nothing_. You hit a rough spot, happens to even the best of us, but I’m not gonna let it take you down.”

“But I don’t feel _whole_ anymore,” she whispers and breaks eye contacts. “I don’t feel safe and I keep feeling them hit me and I dream about it and I can’t—!”

She stops herself and wrestles her arms out of his grip. He allows it because she deserves her freedom, but _Traveler_ if it ain’t hard to not just stomp over to the nearest ship, fly to Mars and _annihilate_ every single Cabal he can get his hands on _like the fucking filth that they_ — _no_! NO SIDETRACKING, CAYDE!

“Hey…” this time his voice is changed, all soft and almost lyrical instead of the usual robotic screeches as he forces his vocal units to at _try_ to behave. “It’s alright. You don’t sleep well alone? Fine, you’ll get my bed and stay in there with you until you feel safe again. You need a bright light beside your bedside? I’ll get a damn generator hauled in there somehow—don’t think that I won’t!”

She lets out a watery chuckle and he counts that as a win in his book.

“You mean it?”

“‘Course I do! You’re my favorite Guardian, if I don’t do special things for you, you might go and get the wrong idea!” Cayde chuckles and bumps her shoulder with his [gently now, Cayde, GENTLY SHE’S HUMAN—SOFT—NOT OF METAL! – SHUT UP, VOICE!] own.

“What about missions? I heard Zavala and Ikora talk to Hawthorne about pushing the perimeters out further.”

His eyes go from warm, relaxed to flinty, hard. “You’re doing anything until you’re comfortable with it, again.”

She’s surprised, real proper surprised. “B-but _how_ did you—”

“Vanguard perk,” he cackles, the plates above his eyes waggling up and down as he makes a fingergun and points it at her. “Hunter Vanguards gets to treat the Hunters real special if they want to. Same with the other classes, but basically I told my lovable sidekicks that if they wanted you out in the field before you were ready, we would have _words_.”

She looks away from him now, what’s going on? Is she _embarrassed_?

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she rasps out and reaches up to twist a few locks of her hair around her fingers. “Cayde, I’m a Guardian and have to stand ready to help all of us return to the City, I have a responsibility to—”

“You’re a human, sweetheart,” Cayde interrupts. He puts a hand on his Guardian’s shoulder, squeezes gently before his other hand reaches out to turn her chin up and towards him. “You’re not a machine, not like me. You’re a Guardian, yes, and a damned good Hunter as well… but you can’t forget that you need a break too. Don’t let Zavala and Ikora fill you with all their justified shit, you’ve gotten enough of that since this whole thing began. Take things at your own pace.”

By now the tears are running down her cheeks again. He doesn’t feel the same panic, though, so that’s a plus.

“T-thank you, Cayde,” she bleats out and leans against the hand, “Thank you, thank you, _thank you_.”

He keeps a good hold of her, ignores the looks that he knows they’re getting from the personnel. He’ll hold her like this for as long as she needs him to, and damn the others.

She’s his.

* * *

“They didn’t catch me until the day after Ikora got off Io,” she says one evening, a bottle of pilfered whiskey sitting in her hand while she’s staring blindly out over the hills that surround the Farm.

She and Cayde are sitting on the roof of one of the barns that aren’t exactly in use around the Farm. He’s lying down and she’s right there beside him.

“You sure you’re up for talking ‘bout this, kiddo?”

She’s quiet for a few long seconds. In the end she nods, though, and leans up to take a swig of the bottle before she’s down beside him again. Wordlessly Cayde’s hand finds her own, metal fingers tangling with her soft, fleshy ones.

“They caught me while I was hiding out near the Rupture,” she says quietly, looks up from the hills around them to the stars above them instead. “I’d been leaving a pretty telling trail of blood… To be honest, I’m surprised it actually took them so long to find me.”

Cayde makes a pained noise. “We should have been there quicker, _I_ should have gotten there much faster!”

“What difference would it have made, Cayde?” the Guardian huffs as she turns her head to look at him. “We’d both have been captured.”

“Are you _questioning_ the abilities of your direct superior, Guardian?” Cayde speaks in mock-outrage and places a hand over where his heart would have been, had he been human like her. “Why, I never thought you to betray me like that!”

A giggle escapes her and she presses the back of her hand against her nose and mouth, as if to keep the mirth from escaping.

Cayde doesn’t mind her laughing.

It makes her glow like she’s made of pure starlight.

The mood quickly grows somber when she returns to the matter they were just talking about, though.

“They wanted me to tell them where my Ghost was,” she continues on and for a moment her hand tightens around Cayde’s like a vice grip. “They didn’t believe that I had sent him away with Master Ikora. Probably thought I was just lying to spite them, or being difficult.”

“Almost tempted to say ‘Served them right’ if it wasn’t for the fact that they hurt you.”

“You can’t protect _every_ Hunter, Cayde,” she whispers, and abandons her flask of booze to instead lean closer to press a soft hand against his cold, metal cheek. “Even if the gesture is amazingly sweet of you to think of.”

“I can damn well try,” he growls and leans closer to her as well.

For a moment all he does is stare at her eyes. They’re luminous here in the midst of night with the stars and the shattered Moon far above them. He finds her ethereal, a wonderous vision here in the darkness. To him she is utterly—no. He shouldn’t. He wants to but he really shouldn’t—it’s not right, they’re too different, no one would—!

“Bah, screw it,” he mutters and leans all the way forward, pressing his mouth-plates against her lips—a mock of a kiss but the closest that he can get to the real deal.

She lets out a surprised noise. Draws back to look at him with those wonderous wide, luminous eyes, but all Cayde feels is confusion. Confusion and hurt? Is this hurt, is this even real, what is this feeling in his chest it twists and turns and what is happening this isn’t—oh.

She kisses him back.

* * *

He doesn’t notice it at first, actually it’s Sundance who points it out to him.

“You’re acting rather possessive of her, Cayde.”

“Who?”

He’s genuinely confused, sitting on the ground in his little corner of the Farm with his Ace of Spades in parts before him and a cleaning rag in the other. The Guardian is dozing on his bed, her Ghost lying right beside her pillow in rest-mode. A sleepy murmur has his eyes dart over to look at her briefly before he looks around for Sundance.

“The Guardian,” his Ghost chides as she flies around to look straight at him. “You’re never far from where she is, no matter what she’s doing. Don’t you think that this is getting a little out of hand.”

“I’m just lookin’ out for her, ‘Dance,” Cayde grunts as he holds up the handle of his gun, tests its weight, before he begins rubbing at it with the rag. “Someone has to.”

She was scared to be alone, so he fits her in his own.

She was scared of the dark, so he managed to find an old bedside lamp lying around somewhere and got it working.

She needed someone to talk to, so he decided to always be near if she needed a break from reality.

He’s only been there for her as she would have been there for him if he needed it, he’s sure of that.

“Cayde, when Hawthorne came by to talk to her about an exercise regiment you spent the entire two hours glued to her side and glared at everything!”

“Bah, you’re readin’ too much into this, little buddy.”

“You’re her Vanguard, Cayde, not her minder. She’s old enough to take care of herself.”

“Sundance, let it _go_ ,” he grumbles and glares up at the Ghost in annoyance. He doesn’t need this right now. Right now, all he wants is enjoy this… this _something_ that’s going on between the Guardian and him.

The days are spent nice and easy. He meets with the other Vanguards, updates them on how his Hunter is doing and his assessment of when she can rejoin the field. She uses some of the day hours to help out around the Farm, as soon as he is free from whatever tirade Zavala’s spewing out, he heads straight for her and takes her walking around the Farm, cozies up with her back in his— _their_ room with books, tea and the odd flask of some questionably obtained booze.

“Cayde…”

He ignores his Ghost, completely focuses on the cleaning of his gun.

She’s wrong. He’s not possessive, he swears he ain’t.

He’s not.

Really, he’s not.

* * *

“She needs sleep, not more fucking tests!”

“She’s  _been_  sleeping,” the doctor argues and Cayde feels that itch in his fingers that always appears whenever something nearby needs shooting. “She doesn’t need that now. First we need to contain–”

“Ooooh, finish that sentence, I fucking  _dare you_ ,” Cayde goads, shifting, and he just knows he’s about to pull his gun out again if that prick comes any closer.

The medics are back.

It’s been three weeks since he got back with his Guardian from the Cabal, three weeks filled with _rest_ and _quiet_ and the best damn company he’s had in a long, _long_ while.

One thing that Cayde apparently forgot while he was trapped in the Tower was how nice it was to actually just sit out there in the wild, just sit and enjoy the wind, the sun or rain, in his own tempo.

He’s done plenty of that with his Hunter, their Ghosts somewhere around them, but the two of them just sitting and enjoying the weather.

It’s good for her to be out in the open, away from closed rooms and darkness and anything that even remotely looks like a Cabal. While she still hates being alone in smaller rooms, the bedroom that they had begun to share seems to be the one exception.

And now these fuckers are going to ruin it all, it seems.

“Cayde, threatening the personnel is _not_ doing you any favors here,” Hawthorne growls from where she is standing with Ikora. “You need to let go of this… thing that’s gotten you in a tizzy like this!”

“You think that this will help her?”

“I think that she needs to spend time away from here! She’s been cooped up for too long, Cayde!” Ikora snaps at him.

_She needs to spend time away from you_

That is what Cayde hears. Why can’t they just understand that he’s doing what is best for her? He promised her that she would never get hurt like this ever again, never left behind, and so he’s fulfilling his promise.

He’s her shield against anything and anyone who might try to hurt [take her away from him] her.

“It’s not your decision!”

“Neither is it yours! The Guardian is old enough, and strong enough too, mind you, to take care of herself. If she feels that she needs more time before we send her out into the field again, then fine, but we want to hear it from her, not from you.”

Ikora’s words mimic his Ghost’s from a week ago.

He grinds his jaw-plates against each other before he turns around, “ _Fine_! Have it your fucking way!” he snarls before he stomps away.

He’s fucking _done_ with their shit.

* * *

She finds him sitting on the rooftops from so many days ago, Sundance swirling around him in worry and him pushing the Ghost away whenever she gets too close.

“You don’t want me to go.”

“You’re not ready,” he snaps. “I hear you cry out in your sleep, I see it when you wake up and has to lie still in bed until you realize that it’s no dream.”

She winces at his words but sits down beside him nonetheless. Her hand finds his, just as his has done so many times before, only reversed. He doesn’t look at her until she presses her lips against his fingers.

“Cayde,” she sighs and reaches out with her free hand to caress his cheek. “You are my Vanguard, my Mentor, my rescuer from a hopeless situation. But I am a Hunter as well, and you of all people should know that Hunters whose wings are clipped grow restless.

“Stay,” he asks—begs—pleads—and clenches the hand connected to his. He can’t lose her to this war, he won’t survive if he does. “Stay here… with me. Stay safe.”

“I’m a Guardian,” she tells him. “Guardians have a duty, but know that I will always come for you, always come back to you, no matter what. _I promise you_.”

She presses her lips to his, a promise he wants to believe with all his heart. Caresses have been few and far between since he kissed her, but that has only made Cayde treasure them even more.

Greedily he presses against her, desperate for a comfort he can no longer truly feel [I may be a machine but that don’t mean that I ain’t able to feel pleasure. Why else d’you think I keep eating all that ramen, huh, Tevis?!] but when has that ever stopped him?

His Guardian’s hands caress both his cheeks and Cayde looks at her. Sadness, possessiveness, fear, anger—so many emotions well up inside him, makes it all feel as if he’s about to explode.

“You’re mine,” he rasps enviously. “My Guardian, my protégé, _my Hunter_.”

“Yours,” she readily agrees, pecks him on his mouth-plates. “Always yours, forever yours.”

“Always.”

“But first we have to win, Cayde,” she draws away from him. Cayde follows until her hands move from his cheeks to his shoulders, stops him from following her. “Trust me, Cayde. Let me fly and let me help the City, the Vanguard—let me help you.”

He hesitates.

This is not what he wants, he thinks. What he wants is to hide her away from everyone—keep her as his and his alone, never to be hurt, but to be kept safe, away from harm, away from—this isn’t helping. He knows that she is right, that Hunters aren’t meant for captivity, no matter how spacious or how pretty the cage.

He looks at her. He sees stars and moonlight in her hair and eyes, soaks up the Light that her humanity bleeds out.

Cayde finally nods.

Mouth-plates press against her forehead and he leans back with a wink in his eyes and a cocky grin fixed in place.

“See you starside, Guardian.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not add more to this  
> Hmm, we'll see...


End file.
